


Chemistry

by hitthehospital



Series: Shoes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, First Meeting, High School, M/M, School, meet cute, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitthehospital/pseuds/hitthehospital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a new student at a secondary school. His new lab partner is not as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to any spelling/grammar issues that need to be corrected, so please tell me!

John Watson pushed through the cramped corridors of the school, battered rucksack on his back and a swarm of twelve-year-olds at his feet.  
"C10... C10..." he mumbled as he craned his neck to see the numbers on the classroom doors. "C10... C-" Spotting the right room, John battled through the heaving masses, pushing and shoving, until he half-fell into the lab. A room of unfamiliar faces turned to him momentarily, the chatter in the room commencing after a beat.  
John sighed. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair, scanning the room for an empty seat. Two spare chairs. One next to a girl from his English class - Susan or Sarah, something like that. The second next to a boy he could only assume to being alive, despite being pale as death and slumped over a table. There was no question which seat he was going to take.  
"Hi, Susan." John chirped, shaping his mouth into a pleasant smile.  
The girl looked confused at first as John walked towards her. "Me?" she asked, motioning to herself.  
"Yes."  
"Oh! I'm not Susan, I'm Sarah," she beamed back.  
"Sorry, Sarah," John cursed to himself. "Can I please sit in the seat next to you?"  
Her face fell, mild concern wrinkled in her eyebrows. "No, sorry. It's taken."  
"No, no, it's okay!"  
"You sure?"  
"Yeh," John sighed. The boy it was, then.

John approached the desk on the corner, the boy sprawled across the surface, his head of black curls rested on his arm as his long, slender fingers tapped out a beat on the scratched wood. John pulled a stool from under the table. The tapping stopped.  
"Hi, I'm John Watson," he said, shrugging his bag of his shoulders.  
"I know." The finger beats resumed.  
"I'm a new student, recently moved here from-"  
"Colchester."  
"Yeh..." John sighed, with a feeling of dejection.  
The other boy turned his head, his pale eyes skated over him, gaze resting on what John thought was his mouth. The boy lazily turned his head away.  
"How's your brother." It was a statement, not a question, said so nonchalantly that this boy, this lazy, rude boy, could only know something John didn't.  
"My bro-?"  
"-Morning, year 12," a voice sang from the front of the room. John turned his attention forward to see a lanky man in his early fifties standing at the front of the class. "For those who don't know me, I'm Mr Lewis, your new chemistry teacher. I hope you had a pleasanter summer holidays?" He asked, rocking on his heels. "Fun? Well, forget that now. If you thought GCSEs were hard, you have another think coming," he said, causing a symphony of moans and sighs from the room. Lewis clasped his hands together eagerly. "Now, we have a couple of new students starting in our sixth form this year, but your head of year probably introduced you to them, so I'm not going to bother wasting my time with that. Instead, who can tell me what they know about..."  
John tried to listen to Lewis, but was distracted by the other boy's hands. He stopped to glance at them, mesmerised by the fluidity of how they moved when writing, almost like a dance. After too long, John realised that the hands had stopped writing. He sheepishly looked up to their owner, who was gazing back, a small smile on his face. John's cheeks ignited. He threw his sight to his work, hiding the embarrassment and new confusion blooming on his face.  
Lewis's voice once again broke John's line of thought. "Now, year 12, I want you to discuss with a partner how much they understand about the topic after my brief explanation."  
The other boy sat up, turning to John and starting to talk in his ever-bored voice that was really starting to annoy John. "I thought the explana-"  
"-Why did you ask how's your brother?"  
The boy sighed at this, as if the explanation was clear. "Shoes."  
"What?"  
The boy sat forward, cocking his head, assessing John. A cat-like grin spread across his face. He took a breath, as if preparing himself for an onslaught. "Your shoes are new-ish, a bit scuffed, but the rest of your clothes are at least two years old - the trousers older. Yet, these shoes are new, expensive even. Why buy expensive new shoes when you could buy cheaper shoes and new uniform? They're smart, too smart, but more importantly, ill-fitting. Surely if you were to buy costly shoes, you would ensure they would fit. Therefore they are second hand, more likely hand-me-downs, definitely from an older member of the family. These shoes are stylish, young-man's shoes, so are too modern for a father or uncle. They could come from a cousin, but more likely an older brother. But why give you shoes? Obviously he doesn't need them anymore, but why does a young man with, most likely very little money, buy expensive shoes that can't have been worn for say, more than a month? These shoes were bought with the intention of impressing someone, but definitely didn't for very long. If they were to impress a partner, why throw the shoes away? So probably an employer, drawing me to the conclusion that the buyer was fired- but what for? He wouldn't have been hired if he had a bad CV, so must have done something drastic to be fired after a month, so I ask, how's your brother?" The other boy stopped and sat back, a smug smile plastered on his face.  
John slowly blinked at him. The boy grinned back.  
The shrill ringing of the school bell finally jolted John from his silence. "How did you..?" John asked, barely audible over the sound of scraping chairs and conversations.  
The boy stood up, swinging his bag over his back. He stared down at the still-motionless John, before walking toward the door.  
John felt desperation grab hold of him as he shot up, stool clattering to the floor. "Who are you?" He called after him.  
The other boy stopped in the open doorway, turning to John. "The name's Sherlock Holmes," he grinned, winking, before disappearing from view.  
John stood, mouth gaping, staring at the empty doorway, until a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He flinched visibly, cursing himself. A booming voice sounded from behind him, "Are we car-sharing for rugby practise tonight, John?" It was Michael. John turned to face him, quickly composing himself.  
"Uh, yeah, if that's ok Michael?"  
Michael laughed, "Of course, John. And call me Mike, yeah?"  
"Okay," John laughed awkwardly. " Is it alright if I get a lift back as well?"  
Mike's whole face fell, giving John the answer before he even opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, John -"  
"-No! It's okay! I've got bus money."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, thanks."  
Mike beamed at this, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose in triumph. "Good, good. See you at six o'clock then?"  
John smiled weakly, "Six it is."

**Author's Note:**

> That deduction took me 5 hours to write, phew!


End file.
